The Silent Harp

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Come on,” Sharon said. “I’ll drive, but you’ll have to tell me how to get there.”

  “Okay. We can grab some hot dogs at the zoo.”

  They got in the car, and as they drove along, they discussed the morning’s sermon. Their pastor had preached on the story of the rich young ruler from the nineteenth chapter of Matthew’s Gospel. He had reminded them of Jesus’ admonition that “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.” Temple grinned at her. “I imagine that stirred some feelings among all of you rich people.”

  “I’ve never understood that Scripture passage,” Sharon said thoughtfully. “Do you really think Jesus was saying that everybody ought to sell everything they have and give it to the poor?”

  “No, I don’t think that at all. I think some of the Bible is descriptive and some is prescriptive.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means sometimes the Bible simply describes the situation. Like in this case, Jesus told this particular rich fellow that he needed to sell everything, but I don’t think that applies to everyone with money. And some parts of the Bible are prescriptive—for instance, the command that everyone needs to be generous and give to the poor.”

  Sharon was always cautious in speaking with Temple about money. She did not know how he got by, for he seemed to have no regular hours or a job. He had none of the trappings of wealth, and yet he never seemed to want things.

  “I’ve often thought about the biggest giver in the whole Bible,” he said. “Do you know who that was?”

  “No, I guess I don’t.”

  “You’ll find her in the Gospel of Mark, chapter twelve. It tells about a poor widow who put two mites into the offering plate—which was like a quarter of a penny. The religious leaders had all put in lots of money, but Jesus told His disciples that the poor widow had put in more than all of them! They were astonished, of course, but Jesus explained that the rich men had given out of their abundance and had plenty left for themselves. This poor widow had put in everything she owned. She had given it all to God.” His voice was filled with admiration. “Of all the people in the Bible, I think I admire that poor woman the most—and we don’t even know her name.”

  Sharon was silent for a moment. “That passage troubles me.”

  “Why is that?”

  “It seems so . . . so irresponsible! I mean she had to eat. Maybe she had children. It doesn’t seem like she could afford to give away everything she had. Especially when there were rich people to give and keep things going.”

  “I think rich people miss out on something,” Temple replied. “This woman knew she didn’t have enough to take care of herself. When she threw it all in, it was like saying, ‘All right, Lord, I’ve given you everything. I’ll starve if you don’t feed me and take care of me.’ Now, that’s what I call faith.”

  Sharon did not like the implications. She herself had become a liberal giver through the church, but this story seemed to negate her own gifts and make them seem like not enough. She had always ignored such teachings from the Bible. “I still think it doesn’t seem right.”

  “So do you think the widow starved to death?”

  “Why . . . I don’t know! I’ve never thought about it.”

  “I don’t think so. I think God did take care of her. And I think she found one of the greatest pleasures in all of life.”

  “What’s that, Temple?”

  “Giving sacrificially. That’s a joy most rich people will never know. I mean if you’ve only got a dollar, it doesn’t seem like much to give the whole dollar. But suppose you’ve got a million dollars. How many people do you know who would give all of it and leave themselves with an empty account at the bank?”

  “That wouldn’t be . . .” She could not finish, for she somehow felt fenced in.

  “Sharon, when was the last time you sacrificed something? When you had to do without something because you had given everything you had?”

  She did not answer but kept her eyes on the traffic in silence as she drove. She turned a corner and then angrily blurted, “I don’t understand you when you talk like this! God gave us common sense, didn’t He?”

  “I don’t think God is looking for common sense. I think He’s looking for faith. If Moses had used common sense, he would never have gone down to Egypt to get a million slaves set free from a powerful pharaoh. If the first disciples had had common sense, they would never have followed a crucified Christ and allowed themselves to be persecuted and killed for their belief. Common sense is all right, I suppose, but the Bible says without faith it’s impossible to please God.”

  Sharon drove silently again, and when they arrived at the zoo, she parked and turned to him. “Come on. That’s enough serious talk for today. Let’s go watch the monkeys. They remind me of you!”

  ****

  The conversation was much more lighthearted while they were at the zoo, and they enjoyed watching the animals as well as the other people. As they left, Sharon said, “It’s been such fun.”

  “We’ll have to do it again. We didn’t get to see nearly all of it.”

  “All right. We will.”

  Sharon drove back to the church, where Temple insisted that she drop him off. She realized that she didn’t even know where he lived, but apparently it was within walking distance of the church. Again she wondered about all her unspoken questions. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, assuming they would make their usual Monday rounds on the Lower East Side.

  “No, not tomorrow. Not for a while, Sharon.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve gotta go away for a time.”

  “But you’ll be back, won’t you?” Sharon was surprised at this turn of events and at her own reaction to the announcement. She did not want him to go away.

  “I really can’t say when or if I’ll be back.”

  Sharon drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. Then it hit her. She turned her gaze on him and demanded bluntly, “Is it a woman, Temple?”

  He nodded solemnly. “Yes, it is.”

  His direct answer left Sharon speechless. She knew she had no right to feel possessive. She had made it plain enough to him that day in her garden that there could never be anything serious between them, but now she was deeply disturbed that he had another relationship. “I know I have no right to pry into your private life, but is this woman someone . . . someone very close to you?”

  “Very close indeed. I love her with all my heart.”

  “Then why did you talk about marriage to me this summer? Has this all happened since then?” Sharon’s tone was sharp, and anger was rising in her.

  “Why, Miss Winslow . . . I believe you’re jealous.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “Actually, there’s no need for jealousy. I’ve got to go see my mother in Oklahoma. She’s sick, and I need to be with her.”

  Sharon felt like an idiot. “I’m so sorry. Is she very ill?”

  “I hope not, but I’ll have to go see. And I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

  Knowing the truth of the matter, Sharon now wanted to help, and a thought occurred to her. Not wanting to offend him, she said carefully, “I know it’s expensive traveling. I’d really like to help with your expenses.” She took some bills out of her purse and handed them to him.

  He took them and studied them as if they were rare and curious items. “You have a good heart, Sharon.” He tucked the bills into his shirt pocket and stepped out of the car. “Good-bye,” he said simply.

  “I hope your mother does well.”

  “Thank you.” Temple hesitated for a minute and then appeared almost ready to say something. Sharon looked at him eagerly, but he only said, “I hope I’ll see you again.” He turned and walked away without looking back, and Sharon felt a sense of loss she could not explain. As she started the car, she tried to put Temple Smith out of her mind, but she knew that was not going to be p
ossible.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Lunch and a Sermon

  The restaurant was crowded, and Clayton wished that Sarah liked less ostentatious places. The Colony on Sixty-second Street was her favorite place to eat, largely because it was also the place to be seen. Nothing was too good for the clientele. Clayton looked over the menu and frowned. He could barely pronounce some of the names: vichyssoise, pompano en papillote, pheasant aux huîtres. It was as if the cooks were afraid to serve ordinary food.

  “I don’t see why they can’t just have roast beef and potatoes,” Clayton complained.

  Sarah gave him an amused look. “You can get roast beef at any old restaurant, but you’re not going to find delicacies like eel ragout—or tripes à la mode de Caen.”

  “Well, who wants that anyway?” he griped.

  “Why are you so hard to get along with today?”

  “I don’t know. Just grumpy, I guess.” Clayton tried to cheer himself up by reading the wine list. It was pages long, with eighty-five different champagnes alone. As they sat waiting for their food, Sarah commented on various celebrities passing by. She was not particularly impressed by Doug Fairbanks, Junior, but she did point out that several members of the Rockefeller family were eating there.

  Clayton tried to hold up his end of the conversation, but it was difficult. He couldn’t stop thinking how pretty Sarah looked tonight. Her silk gauze dress with a black-and-white print had a rounded neck and loose sleeves that came to a point at the elbow. The dress seemed to float about her as she moved, turning this way and that so as not to miss seeing any famous personage.

  From time to time the patrons were treated to a display of culinary pyrotechnics when waiters brought out flaming food skewered on swords. “Look at that,” he said, shaking his head in disgust, “they’ve even got hot dogs on flaming swords.”

  As they were having their dessert and coffee, Sarah said tentatively, “I hear your father’s business is in trouble.”

  Clayton looked at her, startled. “Wherever did you hear that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Things like that get around.”

  He shrugged. “Well, things have been better.”

  “Do you think your father will be able to save the business?”

  “Of course!” Clayton was not as certain as his reply sounded, and he suddenly turned serious. “I want to do something with my life, Sarah.”

  “What do you mean? You are doing something. You’re going to college.”

  “No, I want to do more than that. I may drop out of college and go to work in the business. Dad needs my help.”

  Sarah was quiet for a moment. She was not accustomed to dealing with such problems. In her circle there were no business failures. For people like the Rockefellers and the Mellons, the government would have to fail before they’d lose their money.

  After thinking about it, she said primly, “That seems the appropriate thing to do.”

  Her reply caused him some anxiety, and he asked, “Will this affect your decision one way or the other about marrying me?”

  “Of course not! Don’t be foolish,” Sarah said, laughing. She stood up and pulled on his arm. “Come on. Let’s dance.”

  ****

  Despite what Sarah had told him over their fancy lunch, Clayton was glum. He knew her parents would never allow her to marry into a family that was going down financially. Mulling this over as he drove home from the Mellon mansion, he was surprised that it did not trouble him all that much. He had thought at one time that he was in love with Sarah, but now the thought of not marrying her was an acceptable possibility in his mind.

  It was late afternoon when he arrived home, and he saw William sitting out in front of his cottage. On a whim, Clayton walked over to say hello to him.

  William Morgan got to his feet and took his pipe out of his mouth. “Good day to you, sir.”

  “You’re taking the day off?”

  “Just resting a little. I’m about to put in that new bed of roses your mother wanted.”

  “A little late in the year for that, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but I think we can make it work.”

  Seana stepped out of the cottage wearing a simple green dress. Her braided hair was pinned up in a circular design, and it gleamed in the sunlight like the sun’s corona. “Good afternoon to you, Mr. Winslow.”

  “Hello, Seana. You’re not in your uniform, I see. Are you off today?”

  “Yes indeed, and I’m going to hear a great missionary speak tonight. I expect you’ll be going as well.”

  “Me? No, I hadn’t planned to.”

  “Your own relative, and you’re not going?”

  “My relative?”

  “There’s a foolish man, you are. Reverend Barney Winslow, the famous missionary from Africa, is speaking at the Calvary Baptist Church tonight.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know he was in the States. I’ve never met him but I guess he’s the half-cousin of my father—or something like that.”

  “Well, shame on you for missing an opportunity to hear him preach. I’ve got to go now. I don’t want to be late.”

  “He’s preaching this evening?”

  “Yes, at six o’clock for a missionary gathering. I’ve just got time to get there.”

  An impulse seized Clayton. “Let me go with you.”

  Seana smiled warmly. “All right. That would be fine.”

  “You listen carefully now to what the reverend says,” William said, removing his pipe again to speak. “I’ll hear about it when you come back.”

  Seana leaned over and kissed her father. “That you will.”

  The two young people walked down to the garage and got into Clayton’s car. He pulled it out and stopped it in the driveway, turning to her. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me all of a sudden. You don’t suppose I’m getting religion, do you?”

  Seana smiled at him, a light of humor dancing in her eyes. “No harm it will do you,” she said. “But you don’t need more religion. You need Jesus.”

  Clayton laughed and shook his head. “I guess I don’t know the difference, but maybe I’ll learn.”

  ****

  Clayton and Seana arrived right at six o’clock and were met at the door by a tall man with white hair. “It’s pretty full, but I think there are still seats up in the balcony.”

  “But I’m a relative of Reverend Winslow,” Clayton said quickly.

  “Is that so? In that case, there are two remaining seats for important visitors right on the very front row. Come along.”

  The service had just started as the two walked into the sanctuary. The congregation was singing heartily, and as soon as they found their seats, Seana picked up a hymnbook from the rack and found the page for “Are You Washed in the Blood?”

  “I don’t think I know that one,” Clayton said.

  “You’ll pick it up.” She joined the others on the third verse in her rich contralto voice, which seemed to rise above those around her. She sang with fervor and intensity throughout several hymns.

  When the singing ended, the minister made some announcements and then introduced the speaker.

  “We’re proud today to have Reverend Barney Winslow with us. Many of you have heard him speak before, and I trust all of you are familiar with the great pioneer work he has done in Africa.” He went on for some time in glowing terms, then with a sweep of his hand, said, “Come, Brother Winslow, and give us your message.”

  Clayton had heard his father and other members of his family speak of the man, so he knew what to expect. The tall man with silvery gray hair was deeply tanned from his many years in the African sun. Though he had to be in his midsixties, he seemed as healthy and vigorous as a man half his age, and his voice rang out strong and clear.

  “After that introduction,” Barney said with a smile, “I feel like a pancake that’s had syrup poured all over it.” He paused for the laugh and then looked out over the congregation. “Before I preach, I want to tell you how very grat
eful I am to all of you who have come tonight. Many of you have supported our work in Africa to carry the glorious Gospel of Jesus to the peoples of that continent. So I thank you in the name of Jesus.” He paused and opened his Bible. “The book of Acts has a message in it for all of us. I’m reading from Acts 1:8: ‘But ye shall receive power, after that the Holy Ghost is come upon you.’ I am sure you know the story. Jesus had died and come out of the tomb and now appeared to His disciples. They were waiting, not knowing what to do. But here, just before He left to sit at the right hand of His Father, He gave them this promise: ‘ Ye shall receive power.’”

  Winslow looked out over the congregation, searching out individuals. Clayton felt vulnerable and exposed as the preacher’s eyes met his. It was as if Winslow were speaking directly to him. “The one thing everyone needs is not money or popularity or fame,” Winslow said, his voice lifting to fill the sanctuary. “The one thing we all need is power. Power to live. Power to serve. Power to praise. We need to step out of the pitiful condition in which many Christians live and lay hold on the power of God.” He pointed to the lights hanging from the high ceiling. “These lights that are burning overhead have no power in themselves. A wire runs from each one to a switch box. From there another wire runs to a pole outside. And from that pole more wires run to a great dynamo that creates the power. Many, many Christians have disassociated themselves from power, and therefore, their lights are not shining. But, friends, Jesus himself is that power. When we are connected to Him, we will not be powerless!”

  Clayton listened intently as Reverend Winslow spoke. He had never seen a preacher so full of enthusiasm, and he turned his head slightly to look at Seana. She was entranced. Her lips were slightly open, her eyes fixed on the figure who moved around the platform with the grace of a much younger man.

  The sermon went on for forty-five minutes, and every moment of it was packed with verses from the Old and New Testaments and with thrilling stories of life in Africa. And throughout it all, the name of Jesus was always on Barney Winslow’s lips.